


The Room (With The Model Ships, You Know, That One)

by outofthedeck



Series: no where, posthaste [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Also theres an oc couple thats neither named nor important, Author knows about the bear minimum about pshychology, Character Study, Gen, Psychology, Some other characters show up too but i dont feel like tagging them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofthedeck/pseuds/outofthedeck
Summary: But Krok was studying on his own time. Any and all free time he had was spent watching the lectures from an orange mech whose name he can’t remember and studying for essays and tests that Magnus gladely proctored. Slowly, day by day, he learned about psychology and how the processor works.He learned how to help





	The Room (With The Model Ships, You Know, That One)

Krok was used to the looks the Autobots gave him.

 

They all said yes to spending what’s probably going to be the rest of their lives knowing on boars there are six known Decepticons, one of which is ex-DJD. Whatever issues they have with that he deems that their problem.

 

But those four idiots and Nickel were _his_ unit. Even if Rodimus and Megatron, Primus help them, were the captains, those five are his.

 

Is it possessive? Absolutely. Is it against the rules? Probably. Is that going to stop him? Not a chance.

 

At least he seems to be on speaking terms with the captains.

 

Megatron (for some reason) treats the Scavengers as if they are old friends and that is going to take some getting used to.

 

Rodimus, for a time, was more reserved and Krok was not at all offended. It was to be expected.

 

But eventually Krok and the hot-headed captain had reached an agreement. An unspoken one, of course. It came about over time and a lot of rumors about why the two glare at each other.

 

The Scavengers are Krok’s just as much as they are Rodimus’. Krok gave him that after a “mission” didn't end well, with Rodimus in the medbay and Krok not down a Scavenger.

 

As much as he hates to admit it, it’s nice to know that there are mechs in positions like his just as possessive as he is, even if he is from the “other side” and acts more like one of his team than a distinguished leader.

 

Another thing that helped smooth relations is his job. Well, not quite a ‘job’. More of a side hobby that helped everyone else out. He was still very much a strategist and Rodimus made it clear that he would absolutely use that when (not _if_ , mind you) they go into any battlefield-esque scenario. He even called Krok a ‘less ass-pissed Prowl’ (which might be a compliment? Ballpark’s still out on that one).

 

As it turns out, the mysterious ‘model ship room’ was filled with psychology books. Just thinking about mental health is an immediate turn off for most mechs on the ship, so the room remained vacant until Misfire could explore it and come running to Krok with his findings.

 

When he asked about the room, Rodimus damn near gave it away.

 

“Listen, dude, if no one’s claimed the room, then sure. Go ahead. Read up.” Rodimus had said, half paying attention to the conversation, half paying attention to whatever he was carving on the desk. “Go crazy.” And then he was waved out.

 

Luckily for him, there was already a whole curriculum downloaded on the ship’s computers. No one knew who downloaded it, and no one’s opened it, but it was the official curriculum from Iacon, complete with a final exam and everything.

 

If Krok were religious he’d say that Primus was on his side.

 

So he started studying. It was a three year program, normally, but that was at the university, with its strict schedules.

 

But Krok was studying on his own time. Any and all free time he had was spent watching the lectures from an orange mech whose name he can’t remember and studying for essays and tests that Magnus gladely proctored. Slowly, day by day, he learned about psychology and how the processor works.

 

He learned how to help.

 

There were days when everything clicked. When the mech in the holovids said something and everything made sense.

 

And then there were days where Misfire avoided his office because he could hear the tell tale sounds of a datapad being thrown against a wall in frustration.  

 

But he did it. Two years in space, cramming his head chock full of knowledge.

 

Two years of juggling his studies, and life on the ship, and whatever shenanigans the Scavengers got up to. Two years of frustrations, of second guesses. Two years of quiet reassurances from Fulcrum, of boisterous support from Misfire, of Crankcase’s odd but overall positive support, of Spinister asking _just_ the right questions to help Krok understand, of Nickel offering to be a ‘study buddy’, of Grim’s glares at anyone that decided Krok was today’s gossip topic of the day.

 

He was officially, as official as they could get on a ship in space in another dimension, a fully trained psychologist.

 

But, as the old human adage said, you could lead a horse to water, but you couldn't make him drink. And he didn't want to force anyone to see him and talk to him and tell them all their problems/weaknesses.

 

He still was a Decepticon on an Autobot ship.

* * *

He wasn’t sure who was going to be his first patient, or if he was going to get one at _all,_ but he didn’t expect it to be Nickel.

 

She just came in one day, plopped down on the couch, and started talking. He wasn’t sure if it was _technically_ a session. It was more like her ranting about life on the ship.

 

In the middle of complaining about an incident during movie night, she just stopped. Her shoulders drooped, and she seemed to lose all her fire.

 

“Tarn used to make us talk to him.” Krok stiffened at the sound of the DJD commander’s name, but he didn’t say anything. She needed this. “He was by no means a qualified shrink, but he knew that what we were doing- what _they_ did out in the field- would weigh on some of us. So we talked to him. Told him everything, talked about everything from the smallest thing that irked us to stuff that left us traumatized.” She stopped again.

 

“And…” he prompted. The voice of the orange mech running through his head, running through procedures on grief and loss.

 

“And...I dunno. I’ve missed it. It was nice to get stuff off my chest.”

 

“Do you have something weighing you down?”

 

Nickel shrugged. “Kinda? I dunno.” She shook her head. “It's the little guy- the data stick. I haven't seen one since before the war. Or early on. A lot of us- the _disposables_ -” she spat the word like it hurt her to say it, “joined the ‘cons ‘cause it was the best bet. They would provide. Safety, energon, you name it, ya know?”

 

He nodded.

 

“To see one now, wearing an _Autobot_ badge of all things, it makes me sick. Like, what does that say to all the ones that _died_ fighting for their right to freedom. And he sits there, on the side of their oppressors, on his moral pedestal, like he’s _better._ ”

 

“I get that. But have you tried _talking_ to him?"

* * *

 

Crankcase was...something else. Krok’s known the pilot for years, even if they didn’t meet under the best circumstances.

 

So Krok would be lying if he said he didn’t try to psychoanalyze him. Being reminded of his mortality every time there’s so much as a draft can turn anyone's mood perpetually sour.

 

But Crankcase was different. He’s a Decepticon. Showing weakness amongst the ranks could get you killed. So Krok faced the question:

 

Was Crankcase’s moodiness a natural response, or a defense mechanism?

 

It weighed on him a little. He needed to know the answer, but he wouldn't force it.

 

Especially when Crankcase comes into his office complaining of a headache (that he’ll blame on Misfire or some other bot when they all know the real instigator) and say that he just wants to tinker with the model ships.

 

But what Krok hears is “I want to be somewhere quiet, but not alone”. And Krok lets him tinker. And he lets him avoid talking about anything deep.

 

He’ll learn one day. Just not today. Today, they’ll just enjoy one another’s company.

* * *

 

The first time an Autobot came to see him, he was surprised.

 

It was a couple he’d seen around the engineering decks. They were waiting outside his office that morning and they asked him for help.

 

He wasn’t well versed in couple’s therapy, but he did his best.

 

“No, he doesn’t _listen_!”

 

“Oh, _I_ don’t listen now? You literally turned off your audios yesterday when I tried to talk to you!”

 

“You always respond to my location pings with ‘ _Busy’_!”

 

“You send them _every five minutes!_ ”

 

For the most part, Krok didn’t do much. He just kept the conversation from delving into just insults, and tried to keep the playing field even, every so often piping up with his own opinion. Surprisingly, the two seemed grateful for his help. The screaming died down after a few hours as they laid out their problems for Krok to help sort out.

 

Promises to talk things over and to come back in a week were made and kept. The sessions became regular and eventually the two were walking around the ship hand in hand.

* * *

 

His patient list slowly filled up. Most of his Scavengers opted to just talk to him when their duty schedules lined up (Fulcrum being the only one to actually make weekly appointments on a calendar), but some of the crew did take up his offers to help, whether it’s grief counseling or couples therapy or something else. The looks he got on the ship became less hostile, less cold and more friendly and familiar. Mechs asked him questions in the halls or just said hello. A few even called him their friend.

 

He let out a small smile when he saw his official title on the ship’s registrar changed from ‘strategist’ to ‘strategist/ship’s therapist’.

 

He also didn’t tell anyone about the files.

 

Whenever a new mech trusted him enough to open up, a new file on the mech would show up. It would be corrupted, and he could only see a part of it. He didn’t know who took the notes or who sent him the files, but he wasn’t about to start asking questions.

  
He would just send out a _thank you_ to whomever, and get back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> I, uh, did my best. I wanted to do a krok thing but my brainy no worky. I went back and changed so much ao many times and will probably keep conin back. But here yall go. Also im not done with this series. just between work and it being close to graduation and i am failing one of my classes so im being dragged hither and thither. But ive got a multi chapter fic in the works so keep an eye out.
> 
> Auf Wiedersehen!


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